Distorted Perception
by evilanime789
Summary: Howard is left in the wake of Vince's death and somehow finds a way to cope. Warnings: character death s ,implied and not so implied drug use, SLASH.


Title: Distorted Perception

Author: skwisgaariscool (also known as evilanime789)

Fandom: The Mighty Boosh

Pairing: Howard/Vince

Summary: Howard is left in the wake of Vince's death and somehow finds a way to cope.

Word Count:2791

Rating:PG-13

Warnings: character death(s),implied and not so implied drug use.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Boosh, I really _really_ wish I did but I don't.

Author's Notes: This started out as a dark little squib that had some fluff in it, but somehow it ended as fluff with some dark themes instead.

Distorted Perception

For some, it felt like it was over in a flash. For Howard Moon it felt like an eternity.

'When will this damned thing be over?' thought the northerner, '...He knows I hate crowds.'

True to Howard's word, all around him people were swarming into one of London's finest cemeteries to honor a very important man. All kinds of people – Goths, Mods, Hipsters, Club kids, Shamen, Leroy – all were converging to one spot in the small cemetery to pay homage to this man, this sparkly, enchanting, confusing young man: Vince Noir. No one was quite sure what it was that did the legendary trendsetter in; Theories ranging from 'he was hit by a car' to 'he sold his soul to Mod God for a bag of glitter!'. Really, only Howard knew the hard, devastating truth; Vince Noir choked to death on his own vomit in an alleyway after a night of clubbing. The coroner said there was a chance that he could have made it, had it not been for the cold October weather and Vince's skimpy vest-dress thing.

"_Corsets are __**in**__ Howard!" Vince bemoaned, "I can pull it off! I'm the confuser!" _

_Howard gave an awkward laugh at his friends conviction, "Whatever you say little man."_

Those were some of the last words the duo exchanged... and now it was over. It all felt wrong for Howard. Inside he was berating himself, ' Why don't you feel anything? I should feel something!' It was true – from the moment he got the call from East London Mortuary to come identify the body (not that he had to, _everyone_ knew who Vince Noir was) he just felt... Nothing. Ever since that call, ever since seeing that prone form on that sleek steel slab, ever since watching that glittery gold-rhinestoned casket be lowered into the ground – all he's felt was a mind numbing lull of nothingness, an almost warm comfort to his usual panicked lethargy. The apathy Howard welcomed with an embrace, but something in his mind couldn't help but scream out '_wrong...wrong...feel something!_ ' But nothing came. No feeling whatsoever. The emptiness soon started to eat away at Howard convincing him 'Perhaps I really didn't care much for him anyway?'. He waved off the blasphemous words, but the idea created by self doubt remained in his head.

"... Old Gregg send his condolences for your loss, would you care to discuss feelings over a bottle of Bailey's?"

The words startled Howard out of his reverie, making him acknowledge that someone or _something_ was talking to him, "-Whuh?" _Eloquent as always Jazz Maverick._

He was simply flashed a manic (if not understanding) grin and left alone with a call of "I'M OLD GREGG."

The familiar call stung Howard as he was bombarded with memories of hijinks and crimps with his beloved best friend – His only true friend (disregarding Lester Corncrake, the man would never understand him compared to Vince).

He was suddenly overtaken by an urge, "I need to get out of here!", he rasped frantically to himself. Quick as lightening, he was gone from the cemetery off running through the busy streets of London, past bin men and the abandoned Zooniverse, all the way to the safe haven of the Nabootique.

His hand trembled with need and his lungs burned from the unexpected exertion, 'I need to occupy myself,' thought Howard, 'I'll see what's up with Stationary Village – maybe organize a few biro-trolleys.'

With that he set off onto his task of painstakingly improving his stationary village. It wasn't until Stationary Village was up to military standards that Howard stopped; But he still felt that numbing chill in his stomach that urged him to do more.

"I suppose I could get on cleaning the flat," he murmured to himself.

Howard scrubbed, dusted and tidied until the flat looked like one of those home-maker magazines that his mum kept around. Looking around the spotless home for something else to clean, his eyes froze and his body tensed: Vince's room, the only place left to tidy. A dull ache settled in his chest as he took a few pensive steps toward the bedazzled door..

'Alright Moon, you're a master duster, s'not like you've never cleaned the little man's mess.'

He pushed gently at the door, revealing the inner sanctum of London's club king... It looked as if a Mexican mariachi gang came in and over turned every surface, whilst playing a skilled flamenco piece. Literally every bit of floor was covered with discarded clothes, on the far side of the room Vince's vanity mirror was covered with style references and nonsense like, 'Remember the passion pashmina!' and 'TOPSHOP: on the moon?'.

Smiling at his friends antics Howard set about picking up clothes and hanging them up in the closet. It wasn't until Howard was finished putting the last piece of clothing into the closet did he spy _something_ left haphazardly on the ground. Taking a closer look he smiled; Candy! They were so inherently 'Vince Noir', all shiny stand out colors, small pebble like objects with childish figures on them – leave it to the little man to leave sweets lying about. Howard Moon didn't particularly like sweets. No, Sweets were juvenile and he, sir, was a man of action. Despite this, something came over Howard, the need to just once taste the sugary child-like wonder that once was Vince Noir. He popped one in to his mouth. Too late did he realize that this was no sweet. Suddenly, like a kangaroo launching himself into action in a boxing ring, he was propelled into a world of rainbow jazzy distortion. Images pulled apart and came back together in a frenzied culmination, like a puzzle he needed to solve. He could feel the lonliness and pain drain out from his pores and be replaced with a gentle warmth that he only remembered feeling in one situation: whenever he was alone with Vince. Confusion settled itself on Howard's face as he surveyed his new surroundings; What was once Vince's room was now his old cabin at the Zooniverse.

"What the hell am I doing here?"

"Maybe a deranged nana snuck into your room and stole all of your tweed knits – in the process, accidently stuffing you in her sack, which you fell out of as she made her escape on a cherry red moped, and landed here."

Howard spun around at the sound of that voice, "V-Vince? What are you doing here? Oh God, have you come to take me with you? Please, No! I've got so much to give!"

Vince grinned at his best mate, "Oh shut up you tweed bastard! Where would I be taking you?"

"T-To the afterworld?" Howard blushed at how moronic that sounded.

"What! You've lost a jazzy screw Howard. Why the hell would I take you there? The last time I checked in Cheekbone, dead is so not in."

Howard curled into himself trying to look smaller, as he often did when he was nervous, and looked tentatively up at his best friend, "Because... You are dead, Vince."

Vince snorted, "You've gone mad", he opened his arms wide, "I'm right here, obviously."

Panicked, Howard choked out, "Is that all you have to say?"

Vince's calm look turned into a shit-eating grin, "Welcome to the world of the Mighty Boosh."

A searching look came upon Howard's face, determined, he took a few sure steps forward towards his friend. He needed to know. He needed to know that his friend, his Vince, was here. Grabbing Vince's wrist, he forced their torsos together in an awkward embrace. He felt that same warmth and quiet calm – ensuring him that Vince was with him again.

It was at that point that things started to diverge from life's script of things. What was _supposed _to happen was that Vince would clap Howard on the back, like how very best mates would, they would untangle themselves from their impromptu hug – leaving Howard with a slightly cold sinking feeling in his heart, and somehow end up entangled in a series of hijinks in the abandoned Zooniverse. Instead what happened was what Howard would later describe as a perfect culmination of jazzy explosion. Vince raised his head up, big ocean blue met small nutmeg brown and lips met sweetly like two lovers meeting again after years of separation – a heated mixture of lips and teeth and just _wet._ Howard tightened his arms around Vince's waist before trailing his hands up to his face and pulling their faces away with a _smack. _Howard sighed forlornly at the loss and looked away.

Vince grinned and shifted closer to the tweed-clad man, looking to repeat the act, "Alright?"

"This isn't real."

He cocked his head to the side and looked toward Howard confused, "What'cha mean about that?"

Pushing them apart, Howard let out a frustrated yell. "What I mean is that this, this_ thing_ that just happened isn't real! You're dead Vince! Besides, if this was real life you wouldn't have given me the time of day anyway! _That's_ how I know that I must be dreaming..." He trembled with anxiety at his confession, embarrassed beyond belief at what he just said to his best friend.

Vince giggled – 'Glad he thinks this is so funny,' Howard's venomous thoughts cut in. - and grabbed Howard's hand once again, "You stupid idiot, I love you. Through thick and thin, I'll always love you Howard".

Howard gasped as his lips were stolen again in another heated kiss, he so wanted to pull away, to say '_I love you too', _for the love of god _to breathe, _but couldn't as he lost himself in the dizzying sensation of lips on lips and tongues meeting to wage battle against one another (Vince, of course, won being more experienced) and the overwhelming feeling of warmth coming over him in waves. He pulled away gasping for breathe, trying to get his words out.

"I- I-," he wheezed, "I love you too, Vince."

His vision turned white for a moment, blurring edges slightly, he could hear Vince beaming, "V-Vince?"

"That makes me happy."

The warmth melted away and replaced by a painful chill, the blurred edges turned dark and Howard could feel the knot in his throat as panic took him, "Vince! Vince! I-I can't see, what's happening! _Please!"_

Vince's voice continued like a distorted sound reel echoing, _That makes me happy, That makes me happy, That makes me happy..._

Howard was gasping for breath as a wave of nausea hit him like a ton of bricks. The deafening remains of Vince's echoed in his head until it was broken by a voice, "Howard!"

But...that wasn't Vince's voice.

"Howard, Howard! Get up you nonce c'mon!"

Howard's body thrashed and he felt himself retch, "Who? N-Naboo?" He coughed.

Naboo sneered at the vomit and pulled Howard up into a sitting position, "Of course it's me, idiot."

"But – What? What happened?"

"Well let's see, hm?", spat the shamen, "After you run off like a loon from the service, before the _fucking eulogy_ _that you were suppose to give_, Bollo and I walked home because you took the keys for the van, came up to the flat, to find you on the floor of Vince's _fucking room OVERDOSING on fucking ecstasy!". _Naboo's face reddened from his exertion and he rasped out quietly, "Now...May I ask, what the fuck you were thinking?"

'Well right now i'm wonder why the only swear word you seem to know is the 'f' word but whatever.' thought Howard balefully.

He cleared his throat, "I-I thought it was Vince's candy."

Naboo's face blanked, all emotion sliding off his angular features, "Yeah? Well, I've confiscated them to prevent further mishaps. You should wash your mouth out and sleep, you've got to work the shop tomorrow."

* * *

><p><em>Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.<em>

Howard stared morosely ahead, arms resting on the counter top as the grandfather clock on the far side continued it's dutiful '_tick tick tick'. _It was a slow day at the shop. 'Everyday is a slow day at the shop,' thought Howard.

The boring silence of the shop that used to be filled by Vince's tittering felt solid and depressing, pushing Howard's thought back to the bag of pills and their powerful impact on him. Apart of his mind persistently brought up again and again that those pills had the power to bring Vince, _his Vince_, back – even for just a few moments.

"But I can't," mourned Howard, "Naboo hid the bag somewhere, and probably has it under lock and key!"

The tantalizing voice in his head whispered back inconspicuously, 'Idiot! He obviously hid it in his safe – he doesn't know that you and Vince cracked the combination last summer.'

Howard shook his head, "I can't! What'll happen when I wake up and Naboo finds me strung out of my mind?"

He could practically here the smirk in the voice, 'Well, then we just have to make sure you don't wake up!'

"What!" Howard startled, gnawing nervously at his fingers.

'Relax~,' soothed the voice, before it went in for the kill, 'It's what Vince would've wanted – don't you want to see him again?'

The last nail was hit on the coffin of Howard's mind. That night, he waited for Naboo and Bollo to leave for their weekly bingo competition and snuck into Naboo's room. Careful to not disturb anything too greatly, he continued sure-footed towards the safe. He spun the lock with practiced ease, thankful of his and Vince's persistence the previous summer, and spied the bag hidden behind a copy of _Poisons, Potions and Hallucinogens: Gourmet edition_. The bag in hand, he padded off to the only place he felt right for the job: Vince's room. He made sure to shut and lock the door this time, as the voice instructed, and closed the blinds to the window to be sure that no one would interfere. Slowly he pulled back the sheets of Vince's bed and buried his face in the soft pillows, taking in the scent of vanilla shampoo and tea. 'Soon,' he thought, 'I'll be with you soon, love.'

Getting into a comfortable position he pulled a few pills out of the bag, 'If I almost overdosed on just one, then five should get the job done!'

One by one, he swallowed each pill dry not stopping even as his vision blurred after the second or third pill. His vision was suddenly bombarded by colorful explosions and the sound of soft laughter was pulling at the recesses of his mind. He laughed madly, body twisting and tangling in between Vince's sheets and a sheen of a cold sweat covered his body. He could _feel it,_ he could feel the brush of lips against his cheeks, the feeling of two arms embracing him with care, a warm breath steady against his ear whispering sweet nothings. For once in his life, Howard Moon felt content and _happy_.

That's when he finally saw him, a vision in red and black, running towards him laughing with joy, free of any cares spouting playful commands, "Come with me, Howard! Let's journey through time and space!"

Grinning at his love, Howard took one last deep breath and dove head first into another adventure with his love, his friend, his Vince. He could never deny his Vince.

Two hands gripped each other for dear life as the were propelled into another world of magic and wonderment, finally together again – and they weren't planning on ever letting go.

_Welcome to the world of The Mighty Boosh._

* * *

><p>Somewhere, in a world far more dark and sad, two men stood together in a dark room surrounded by thick tension.<p>

"How did it happen?" murmured the shorter man.

"Well," said the official, "It seems to have been an overdose on these pills- ecstasy laced with acid, I think, but we can't be sure until we send them up to the lab".

The shorter man scowled glaring at the prone form on the bed, "Idiot, I told you not to do it – I thought you had so much left to give?"

Unaware to the serious scene, miles away in a world of dreams two men sat curled together giving each other their very being, sharing a love that transcended through life and death, time and space, magic and reality – leaving behind everything but themselves.


End file.
